Random Blog in the Style of the Video of The Letter by PJ Harvey

Down the littery streets under the bridge by the side of the river where the cars come from the airport, I found you skipping blankly over the empty boxes. These are the homes of the night staff, the plongeurs from the uptown restaurants. Here the night becomes the day in long mess of drear rain pouring from what I though was waste from some factory across the water. It lights your face turning it from grey to grayer as the watery light filters in like overflow from some city sewer. You want to look like that, that's your problem Missy. I made a message board on the wall of some community center over the way there. All those pictures of you lit up by the unshaded bulb and all those bodies pushing past you leaving whatever mess to colour up the building. They all told me you weren't ever here before but I can smell you over all this. The meat markets throw out anything they can't use, just toss it into the street and no one cleans it up ever. I think there is someone living under that mess of rotting protein there; I can see a pink hand in the blue flesh, calling for someone. I may go and help. It cannot be certain; this is a dangerous place, downtown. I am from the country and I don't know what downtown actually means. That last song you did was too structured. Maybe they had got you off whatever kept you going and made you clean in their eyes. See danger everywhere and make an exit before they get back to you. Those photographs, they make you immortal like Monroe or some other starlet. Mahler on the radio, that funky European dancer, those deep notes, bowed so far down in your gut that they make you think you are being cut in two by the strings. The wind blows its own note between the blank walled buildings on this street, this small alley to nowhere special. The lights are still on at mid-morning and no one has spoken to you. It might be winter but I am always so cold without you, it is difficult to tell exactly. The sweats hits me as well, dripping in my eyes until I cannot see anything any more. The bridge is above me and takes the cars to its bigger cousin, out over the river to other states, to other countries as far as is possible for me to know. I have not left this island ever and will never leave. Stop.